If it had been entirely up to me, I'd be a mother to four boys.
My own Cartwright clan: me, Graham, Emmett, Cole and Carlson. Now you know where my dog's name originated.
I had all the horses, but not the kids to put on them.
Adapt and overcome.
Life gave me my Cole after all. And he's darn tootin' the best kid ever.
A long time from now, when he's gone, I'll get another German Shorthair Pointer, the next one shall be called Carlson...
Apparently, I will have the time to have three more subsequent dogs. The bad news is that I'm predicted to live to 101.
www.livingto100.com is reputed to be one of the most accurate calculators of life expectancy. It's based on research from the New England Centenarian Study at Boston University. I'm so screwed, I've only saved up to live to 72. Maybe I should take up smoking or sky diving.
I guess it's a good thing that my new interests are a in strength training and biomechanics. I may be working on prototypes for my own use some day.
It may be that in 2070, I'll be zipping through the woods in one of these, with, of course, one of these at my side:
My only desire is to be a useful person right to the end. Of service, not servile. As long as I can help somebody or some creature, I'll stick around.
My new fledgling career as a personal trainer is fulfilling that need. And thanks to the 20 friends and family who signed up as my trial clients while I work through my classes, this is the most cerebrally engaged I've been in years. The desire to tailor regiments for so many different people has fueled me to forge way ahead of the scheduled classwork. Thanks everybody!
